Studying
by Orokid
Summary: Harry ends up studying the wrong thing one night.


**Orokid**_: This was something that I've been sort of working on for a long while, and it's questionable whether it's readable or not. Lol. But still… I think that it's okay, considering the fact that I haven't looked at it for a very long time, and this is the first time I have since. Other than that, I'm sure that it's a fantastic piece of writing._

_Cough cough… Hence- notice the sarcasm in that statement._

_Besides that, I had a good time writing this, and it was fun to play with, now that I think about it. I hope that you like it. Please review for me! Thanks._

**Disclaimer**_: Like everything in this world, I do not own this, and I barely own the plot line. I got most of the idea from a challenge that I never finished, so… yeah. No ownership of anything, it seems like. The end._

**Studying**

Harry didn't know just why in the world he couldn't stop himself from watching her as she read, the candlelight dancing across her features while the darkness surrounded them. For hours, he had been dirtying his fingers on the papers of books he had never thought that he'd read, on pages older than both he and his close friends combined, yet, with every minute or so, his eyes would wander from the words he was supposed to be deciphering to her lips, her cheeks, her eyes… He'd watch her, unable to pull his emeralds away until either she or the male seated beside him would wake from their mental slumber, from the musty pages that they had buried their heads and minds into, and possibly catch him in this intrepid game he had merely created moments ago, when candles had become needed due to the lack of sunlight emitting from the nearly set sun. To his knowledge, he hadn't yet been caught by neither she nor his other friend, and he had been more than thankful that his actions seemed unnoticed by the two.

Her hand moved to push a fallen lock away, her eyes still fixated upon the page she had flipped to maybe moments before. If he had thought about it, his hand might have moved on its own, but there was also the fact that his hesitant and worrying heart refused to allow it to move. He was afraid what she might read into it, what she might do or say to him if his true ambitions were revealed in one single movement of fingertips removing those cinnamon curls from the sights of those chocolate depths. He was fearful that she might someday see the truth in his eyes, see his heart out on his sleeve when he had done so much to hide his fear and longing towards the one that he cared for so deeply, so that she might not see his heartache and so she would remain safe from the harm that did haunt him in every way.

Lowering his head, he move more returned to his work, knowing that he had to control his eyes, his ears, his heart, just so they could finish what they had come there to do, so they could stop the never ending battle that was to come either sooner or later. It was to either get to work or lose his mind, pondering over the maybes and what could-have-beens as he would stare at the young woman across the table from him. Right now, he'd rather be losing his head over her, like he was starting to do in class rather than watch the teacher spew things from their lips that should be entering his mind forever instead of flying through one ear and out the other. He should be listening in on what their professors have to say just in case it might help with the battles that were to come, not giving in to boyish desires that could, at some time, cost either she or him their much needed lives.

The sad part was… just thinking about her sitting in front of him in class (while he was beside their mutual red haired friend) seemed to make his hops to continue working on their current issue unbearable. All he could truly think of at that moment was the smell of lilac floating back to him as a gentle breeze would sweep through the classroom, or how whatever light that was in the room- whether it be the sun through the opens windows or the torches against the dungeon walls- seemed to cause her skin to look vibrant and almost too beautiful for his eyes to watch, or even when she'd be looking over his shoulder to see just what he was doing, her succulent lips near his ear as she offered up suggestions to make the homework he had been working upon better… Just those things, as well as many more, seemed to make the Boy-Who-Lived yearn for something more than the interactions he received, more than the kiss upon his cheek during departing times where they may or may not see each other again. He just wanted to be more than what he was for once, more than her best mate whom she could share her life to when all seemed hard and rough, more than the life he lived so that she might see the man behind the mask he wore each and every day, behind those sad green eyes he himself knew couldn't hide what his body could.

But, to be more, he knew that he had to believe that he himself could attain such a divine gift that was her adoration, her touches that surpassed the line that they had unknowingly mutually drawn together. He knew that he had to pull together all of the Gryffindor courage that he had within his entire being, had to push his emotions out from the piece of his heart where they had hidden from view for so long, from prying eyes who might use his affections against him, from those chocolate orbs that haunted him throughout the long hours of the night… To be more, he knew that he had to beat the one that caused everyone- not only she or himself- pain and heartache that the world could live without, just so they could live a life devoid of hardships like he knew they would have to live if he indeed gave into his emotions for her.

He knew all of that, and yet… he wanted more than he could ever receive… more than she could ever give. Harry Potter wanted the one thing that was out of his reach, whether she was truly or not, and he hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to receive such a gracious gift as her love. He hated the fact that he couldn't have a real love life, couldn't ever hold her in his arms like he really wished to, and the person he hated more was the one that had caused them all such a discomfort in their well beings- he hated himself the most out of everything- including his arch nemesis- for being as weak as he was to be limited by the fear that she would die if he ever tried to love her further than he usually did.

With a sigh, the young male with deep emerald eyes turned back to the book he was reading, forcing himself as best as he could to concentrate on the words that only seemed to be read as muddled conversations were spoken. He just wished that this bloody war would end soon- he had boyish fantasies to ponder over.

_**FIN**_

**Orokid**_: So what did you think of the story? I know that it isn't much, and that it probably ended a bit abruptly, but this was all I have in me right now. I'm just recovering from a spell (I know- bad joke) of Writer's Block, and I'm a bit hardened on my ability to write as of the moment. Until I am un-quarantined (if that's even a word), this is what I have to do. Sorry._

_But… besides that… What do you think? I'd really enjoy a review for this fic, and I'd appreciate it too. But, nonetheless, I thank you for reading it, whether you give me a review or not. Thanks._


End file.
